Perfume: Story of a Murderer, and More...

What's in a smell? A rose by any other smell would not be named as sweet...

It isn't very often that I can't sleep because of a book, but I have to say, honestly, that Perfume has officially done something that Harry Potter couldn't. The first thing that struck me was the power of Suskind's imagination to come up with such a concept. I mean, smell? One of the most basal, animalistic senses? One that we've often been taught to disregard? Fascinating...

The central character of Perfume, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, has an exceptional sense of smell. It's so exceptional that he uses his nose to identify individual people, and he has a particular interest in beautiful, virginal young girls. And you guessed it; he kills the girls he fancies. That's partly why I couldn't sleep last night – as much as I tried to convince myself that I only satisfy 75% of Grenouille's requirements (and therefore am at no risk at being murdered in my sleep), I was disturbed as to what kind of sensory messages I'm sending out to people.

During high school I was fairly mystified by the way some of my girlfriends could walk into a party and turn every male's head towards them. I had my theories – their impeccable dress sense, their body proportions (y'know, the “golden ratio” business), the grapevine (which promoted them as hot stuff, since Facebook wasn't around in those days)...but perhaps all of them were wrong? Perhaps they had particularly strong, enticing pheromones that the prehistoric creature lurking in every boy had learned to recognise. After all, real medical studies have shown that pheromones play a role in attraction for animals ranging from rats to humans (One of my lecturers is actually doing some research on pheromones at the moment!).

I've had a long-term suspicion that I send out “bugger off, I'm queer” pheromones, since it's been well-established that romance and I go together like onions and chocolate sauce. Now I wonder how much of my personality people can detect “subconsciously” on a first impression. Whether I reek of reluctance to commit to animate objects, or intense competitiveness/neuroticism/hyperactivity, or my support of some very radical minority groups...

Perhaps I can decompose it down to rational terms. Perhaps people who are very interested in a relationship will take pride in and put effort into their appearance, since they're the people whom perfumes like “Baby Doll” and “Delicious” and “Lovely” and “Darling” are marketed at. Perhaps neurotic people like me break out in nervous sweats much more than calm, collected people. Perhaps, you give off a slightly different odour depending on whether you're a normal omnivore, or a pescetarian (like me!), or an ovo-lacto vegetarian (like I used to be), or a vegan.

Just something to think about next time you're at a party and you're suddenly attracted to somebody for no reason.

Of course, just before I wrap up, I'll plug the novel a bit more. The language is exquisite – you can almost experience the myriad of odours along with Grenouille just thanks to the way Suskind constructs his prose. The religious allusions are confronting, but still captivating, even haunting. I'm not very good with my pre-revolutionary French history, but seriously, the novel's setting is gorgeous. And what I found surprising was how fast a read it was – since I've started med school I've sat on novels for at least a week (and this makes me very sad, as I long for the days when I devoured 20-odd books over a 2-month period) - and I just raced through Perfume in about...what, six hours in total? And yet I savoured it – I enjoyed all the descriptions of perfume-making (like the cold-pressing of jasmine blossoms) and the extensive travels of the main character throughout France, and the sensuality and physicality and immediacy of...well, everything.

If you guys read nothing else of this entry, then read this. Go and read Perfume! You won't regret it.